by Jenny Kane
Mathilda curtseyed to each brother in turn, starting with the one at the head of the table, who she assumed was John, the elder brother and Lord of Ashby Folville. The row of candles on the table flickered in the draught of the hall, and obscured the shadows, making it difficult to accurately assess all the men’s features.
‘You appear much improved, Mathilda.’ Robert nodded encouragingly at her, but Mathilda had spotted the furrow on his brow, which didn’t quite match his warm tone, ‘Let me introduce you to some of my family.’
Robert gestured to the head of the table. ‘This is my second-eldest brother, Eustace de Folville.’
Mathilda curtseyed again, reappraising the man she’d incorrectly taken to be the lord of the manor. She judged he was about thirty-five years of age. His stature and build matched that of his younger brothers, and his well-tailored attire was in the latest European styles. His face was smooth and his hair cropped short as pertained to the French fashion. Mathilda recalled how she’d heard her father telling Matthew some time ago how the Folville family had originally come over to England with William the Bastard from Picardy in France, and had been entrusted with Ashby Folville as a reward for their services.
Robert moved his attention to the next chair. ‘This is my cousin Laurence, and next to him is Richard, rector of Teigh, who you met briefly earlier.’
Again Mathilda reflected that, even though he’d lost the fishy aroma picked up from when he’s captured her, Richard de Folville couldn’t have looked less like a rector if he tried. In fact Mathilda couldn’t imagine a less pious-looking man existing, yet she bowed with sensible grace, and acknowledged his religious status, ‘Greetings, Father.’
‘This is Thomas,’ Robert gestured to the clergyman’s neighbour, ‘and finally we have Walter.’
Mathilda bowed and curtseyed again. Not entirely sure which gesture was expected of her, so adopting a generally submissive position somewhere between the two.
Returning to his seat, Robert left Mathilda hovering, small and vulnerable, before the panel of blue eyes, square jaws and muscular frames. As she observed them studying her through the dim light, Mathilda has no problem imagining them delivering their own brand of justice; and in some cases, relishing doing so.
‘You wish to know where our brother the Lord John de Folville is?’
In fact Mathilda had been wondering why Eustace, more than any other brother, seemed to exude a controlled menace from a disconcertingly blank expression ‘Yes, my Lord,’ she answered Robert clearly, but lowered her eyes further, suddenly unsure if she had actually been supposed to reply.
Eustace roared with laughter, and gestured to Robert, ‘You are right, brother. The chit is a bold one.’ Mathilda’s cheeks coloured brightly as she continued to concentrate on the dirty patch of ground between her feet. The other brothers, with the exception of Robert, joined in the thunderous laugh, but, Mathilda suspected, they laughed more out of duty then any genuine stirrings of amusement.
‘I believe she is what we need, Eustace.’ Robert spoke firmly. ‘She is bold, bright, and has some letters.’
Eustace chewed at the inside of his cheek, ‘Quick-witted as well, I’ll warrant.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Your age, child?’ The rector broke his silence, and asked the question as a demand.
‘I am nineteen, Father,’ Mathilda already hated him. The others she was wary of, and Eustace, she might always be afraid of, but the rector oozed coldness and a lack of compassion. She vowed that she would keep as far away from him as possible.
Richard said no more, but his hawk-like eyes never left her.
‘Tell me, girl,’ Eustace re-took the mantle of questioning, ‘do you know why it was necessary to place you in the cell for a while?’
Mathilda glanced at Robert, checking if she was supposed to reply this time. His almost imperceptible bow of his head reassured her. She swallowed, thinking quickly, ‘I may be wrong, my Lord, and I beg your pardon if I offend, but I imagine it was to keep me out of the way while you decided what to do with me. To remind me of my place, and to use my suffering to punish my father,’ Mathilda hastily added another, ‘my Lord,’ and then returned her gaze to the floor.
The sinister air at the table lasted an uncomfortably long time. Continuing to examine the rough floor Mathilda felt the fear which she had so carefully controlled and suppressed, creep up her spine and prickle the skin beneath her tightly harnessed hair. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see the sullen angry expressions her answer may have given them.
What would they do to her? Mathilda hadn’t needed Robert to confirm for her that the Folvilles administered their own take on the law. There would be no sheriff or bailiff to intercede for her here. They might imprison her again, wound her, cut out her tongue for her boldness, or leave her in the hands of the rector …
As Mathilda’s imaginings became wilder and more painful, the gruff tones of Eustace de Folville cut through the expectant hush of the hall. Rather than comment on her statement, he took her by surprise, ‘Your father and brother Matthew are safe.’
Mathilda opened her mouth to ask about her younger brother, Oswin, but closed it again on seeing a warning glance from Robert.
‘They are back at home, toiling to earn enough money to discharge their debt, and have you returned to them.’ Eustace’s eyes seemed to bore even further into her soul as Mathilda choked back all the questions she was desperate to ask, but had the common sense not to.
The eldest Folville present continued, ‘Your father has made himself our debtor by his own free-will, and debts must be paid. So,’ Eustace took an unpleasant sounding guttural breath as he stared the newly scrubbed girl, ‘you are our prize for as long as it takes for your family to discharge their payment.’
Eustace walked towards the fire, warming his palms against the approaching chill of the summer evening. ‘My brother Robert speaks well of you. I see a liking there.’
Mathilda wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or scolding his brother, and daren’t glance towards Robert to see how he responded to such a comment. The rector sniggered quietly into his wooden mug of ale.
Robert said nothing however, as Eustace continued, ‘You know something of us, Mathilda, from living life long in these parts. And I have no doubt, my dear brother has explained to you our beliefs on looking after our lands and beyond, keeping a weather eye on the dealings of all men in this Hundred of East Goscote.’
Mathilda bit her tongue in an effort to remain demurely mute, trying hard to concentrate on what Eustace was saying and not on the unknown fate of her younger brother.
‘He has also, I believe, told you of his fascination with stories,’ Eustace gave Robert a blunt stare; leaving Mathilda to wonder whether it was Robert’s passion for the tales of the minstrels, or the fact he’d shared that belief and interest with a mere chattel such as her, that he disapproved of.
‘The balladeers have become obsessed of late with the injustices of this land, and often rightly so. Naturally the fabled Robyn Hode has become a hero. An ordinary man who breaks the law and yet somehow remains good and faithful in the eyes of the Church. In years past the sheer vastness of such a character’s popularity would have been unthinkable, but these days, well …’ Eustace begun to pace in front of the fire, reminding Mathilda of how his brother had moved earlier, ‘… now we are empowered by the young King, the Earl of Huntingdon, and Sheriff Ingram, to keep these lands safe and well run, and by God and Our Lady we’ll do it, even if we have to sweep some capricious damned souls to an earlier hell than they were expecting along the way.’
Eustace was shouting now, but not at her. His voice had adopted a determined hectoring passion, and Mathilda resolved that she would never willingly disappoint this man; it would be too dangerous.
‘Many of the complaints of crimes and infringements that reach my family’s ears are not accurate. I am sure that more felonies are alleged out of spite or personal grievance than are ever actua
lly committed. We need more eyes and ears, girl. Accurate, unbiased eyes and ears. The sheriff of this county is not a bad man. Well, he is no worse than the rest, but Ingram is sorely stretched. He has not only this shire, but that of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire within his writ. The man cannot be everywhere at once. No man can.
‘We are believed to have a band of criminals under our control, Mathilda. This is not true. I’m no Hode, although I am lucky to have the respect of the local population, and although I know that respect is because they go in fear of me, I’d rather have that than no respect at all. Hode’s principles I embrace, as I do other outlaw heroes’ who have flouted a law more corrupt than they are. Those such as Gamelyn can also give a man a good example to follow. What was it he declared to the justice at his false trail, Robert?’
Moving into the light of the table, Robert thought for a second before reeling off a verse he’d probably known by heart since childhood,
‘Come from the seat of justice: all too oft
Hast thou polluted law’s clear stream with wrong;
Too oft hast taken reward against the poor;
Too oft hast lent thine aid to villainy,
And given judgment ’gainst the innocent.
Come down and meet thine own meed at the bar,
While I, in thy place, give more rightful doom
And see that justice dwells in law for once.5
Eustace nodded thanks to his brother, who had already shrunk back into the shadows of the nearest wall, ‘I do not have such a band at my beck and call, Mathilda. When I need help I have to pay for it.’
All the time Eustace spoke the other members of his family pointedly stared at Mathilda as they drank their ale, which was frequently topped up by the same servant boy who’d provided her with food earlier.
Sitting on a seat with a sigh, Eustace gestured to Allward to add more candles to the room, for the approach of the dark of evening was filling the place with a ghostly chill and an encroaching gloom. ‘To answer the question you didn’t actually ask, girl, my eldest brother, the Lord John de Folville, is currently in Huntingdon. We are enfeoffed to them and the connection is strong. He is often there. This manor is run, on a practical level, by Lord Robert, who acts as steward, with additional assistance from Richard, rector of Teigh.’6
Mathilda shivered, refraining from meeting the expression of the harsh eyed man who’d dragged her from prison, making sure he touched as much of her flesh as possible, as he snorted with ill-concealed contempt from his seat on the far side of the table.
‘I am telling you this, Mathilda, because it will be important in your task. You are to appear to the world to be Robert’s woman.’
Mathilda couldn’t disguise her intake of breath at that news, and ignored the smattering of smirks on the faces of the daunting panel of solidly muscular brothers before her. She hadn’t really believed Robert when he’d suggested that would be her role earlier.
‘In reality you will be an information gatherer and deliverer of messages. My brother, Lord John, commands a reasonable estate which demands constant attention. I – we – need to know what is happening across its villages, holdings, and beyond. I need someone I can trust to liaise with our colleagues in other counties, and who better than someone innocent of appearance, and whose very devotion is wrapped up in the safety of her family.’
Mathilda blinked in the face of guttering candle smoke, her throat drier than it had ever been. She was to be a spy. A professional gossip. This was hazardous work which held brutal, legally enforced punishments she didn’t even want to think about. Mathilda forced herself to hold back her unease at Eustace’s veiled threat towards her family if she refused him, and listened.
‘You will be the eyes and ears I speak of Mathilda, and our representative. What say you, girl?’
‘Of course, my Lord.’ There was nothing else she could say.
Chapter Eleven
‘Are you OK, Grace? You look tired.’
Grace, who’d been writing until about midnight, and then hadn’t been able to sleep due to a combination of squeaking guinea pigs, the inability to stop her brain rehashing the previous day’s viva and the subsequent walk with Dr Franks by the lake yet again, not to mention her fears about buying a dress today, yawned as if on cue. ‘I’m fine; it’s been a busy week, that’s all.’
‘Sorry we had to get up so early, but parking in Sheffield on a Saturday is hell if you don’t get there first thing.’
Daisy had woken Grace up at seven o’clock with hot coffee and two rounds of toast and marmalade. Now, at only a few minutes past eight, they were bouncing out of the driveway towards the city for a day of trying things on.
Grace was staring blindly out of the window, when a thought struck her. It had been a week last Tuesday since she’d last bothered to shave her legs and under her arms. What on earth would they be like now!? Cursing herself for not thinking to check on the status of her stubble last night, Grace groaned. Her legs were bound to be on show again today. The idea made her feel a bit sick. When it came to imparting knowledge on medieval England Grace could stand and talk to hundred people without more than a few butterflies, but showing even her best friend any part of her anatomy, or being the centre of attention in any other way, made Grace want to run away and hide.
‘Are you sure you’re all right Grace?’ Daisy glanced at her passenger anxiously as she negotiated a left turn, ‘you’ve gone a funny colour.’
‘Well, um,’ Grace knew she’d have to come clean, she didn’t want to ruin the day for Daisy by appearing to be miserable, ‘I have a bit of a confession to make.’
‘Oh my God! Is it about this Robert Franks bloke? You didn’t sneak off and have sex in his office after the viva, did you?’
‘Daisy!’ Grace’s sickly complexion went scarlet. ‘Of course not!’
‘I was only joking. Well, half-joking.’ Pulling the Land Rover into a convenient lay-by, Daisy turned to Grace. ‘What is it? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’
‘All right,’ Grace fiddled with her seat belt as she confessed, ‘I’m scared I guess.’
‘Scared? Of what?’
‘Letting you down. Trying on clothes with people looking at me.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Not kidding,’ Grace grimaced but with a smile to indicate to Daisy she knew she was being ridiculous, but couldn’t help it. ‘I’m even sat here remembering how stubbly my legs are. I didn’t even remember to check if my underwear matches. I’m being a crap bridesmaid and I haven’t even got the dress yet.’
Fighting the urge to laugh, Daisy took hold of Grace’s hand, ‘I don’t give two hoots at the state of your stubble or your underwear, and I don’t believe for a minute that you’ll let me down. I know you don’t like people looking at you, but you’re beautiful, and it’s about time you realised that. Stop hiding behind your work and your jeans.’
‘I am too fat, my hair is too straggly, and my boobs are too big,’ Grace held up her hand to stop Daisy arguing with her, and added, ‘and anyway, you wear jeans all the time too!’ ‘Of course I do, I have little creatures pooping down me all day. When Marcus and I go out I put something else on, though. I’m not always hiding behind denim.’
‘Oh.’
‘Honey, this isn’t meant to be a torture session; it’s meant to be fun. Let’s be two silly people playing with posh dresses and take it from there shall we? To be honest, I’m pretty nervous as well. I don’t actually like dress shopping myself, do I?’ Daisy spoke as though she was encouraging a small child.
‘I’m sorry, Daze, thanks. I really don’t want to let you down.’
‘You won’t.’ Daisy spoke with finality as she screeched the Land Rover back into gear and headed towards the city, ‘Now, let’s forget dresses for a second. Are you OK to stay with me the night before the wedding? I’ve reserved a couple of rooms at the hotel nearest Hardwick Hall, but I need to confirm the booking really soon. Is that all right?’
; ‘That’s a good idea. I’d like to be able to help you out before the off.’
‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that. It’s called the Partridge Hotel. Marcus won’t be staying there, his folks live nearby, and so he’ll be with them. I’ll confirm tonight.’
‘Thanks Daze, you’re a star.’
‘True,’ Daisy risked a glance at her friend, and was relieved to see that she no longer giving the impression that she was about to throw up, ‘It’s a double room – just in case!’
Reclining on the cream leather sofa, Grace sipped her freshly squeezed orange juice. The shop was unbearably warm, probably due to the almost permanent state of undress of most its clients, Grace thought it wasn’t unlike sitting in a greenhouse on a hot day.
Daisy had already tried on the first of the three dresses she’d reserved, but on this second try had decided against it. A decision Grace had to agree with. Lovely though it was, it wasn’t low-cut enough, and squashed Daisy’s boobs, giving her a figure that resembled a cottage loaf.
Grace could hear Daisy muttering happily to the assistant. She was supposed to be searching through the row of size 16 bridesmaid dresses the assistant has sorted out for her while she was waiting, but so far all Grace had done was run her eyes over them from the safety of the sofa, mentally discarding certain colours and shades. She was just considering if something in a rich plum colour would suit her, when the changing room curtain was drawn back and Daisy, a little flushed, but grinning broadly, was helped out.
One minute later Daisy was stood on an upturned box so that the assistant could pin up the hem to the required length. She looked incredible. The happy radiance to future bride’s eyes told Grace that she’d fallen in love with the dress she had on already.
Ivory, but inlaid discreetly with a spattering of delicate beads within an occasional silver leaf and butterfly pattern, it flattered Daisy’s figure perfectly. Little tank-style sleeves covered the very tops of her arms, and a crossover asymmetrical draping of the slightly dropped torso slimmed her rounded stomach. An A-line skirt completed the effect, slimming her even further.
